Vegas Hangover
by iyimgrace
Summary: House and Wilson wake up in the Bellagio in Las Vegas with no clue as to what happened last night. No surprise things spin horribly out of control from there. Takes place in the beginning of S6, after House has been released from Mayfield. M for language.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Well Hello All! Geesh, it's been some time since I've posted anything. I've been working on some pieces that I'd like to eventually send to a publisher so that has been taking up all of my spare time since Candy Canes and Mistletoe. Of course real life hogs up the rest of the time. Plus, to be truthful, I haven't been all that impressed with House this season. I think they totally went off the deep end when they really had a nice opportunity to do something great with House "in love" even if it was with Cuddy. I was willing to overlook that for some real gems of an opportunity. But alas, they ruined it and dropped the ball in my humble opinion. I don't buy that song and dance that he's irredeemable. Oh well, I guess that's why I write fanfic and not for the show eh? _

_At any rate, this piece here, I started last summer in the midst of one "real" fic and the end of Candy Canes. Still not finished with it yet, but hoping to get my flow going since summer is coming and I only have 3 weeks left of educating the brain-dead teens of America. Prom just happened along with the ubiquitous trip to the shore. So in honor of that debauchery and the release of the Hangover II (which was every bit as insane as the first BTW), I give you the Hangover: House MD style! This takes place in the beginning of Season 6. House is living with Wilson and still relatively stable after Mayfield. _

_Enjoy!_

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><p>Vegas Hangover<p>

Chapter 1:_ What happens in Vegas_…

What was the adage? For the life of him, James Wilson couldn't remember.

_Mom always said not to play ball in the house. _

_Keep making that face and it will stay that way. _

_You'll shoot your eye out, kid. _

Oh yeah, now he recalled…

_Beer before liquor never sicker; liquor before beer, have no fear._

He'd stuck to the adage. Well, at least he thought he did. They had started with a shot of tequila... was it? He couldn't remember. All he knew was his head felt like someone had removed his brain and stuffed it with sand. It was heavy, throbbing with an incessant pulsation like a marching band was playing a loud cadence inside the clouded space between his ears. What he wouldn't give for a grenade and an AK-47 to take them all out; just mow them down like zombies in a shopping mall. God, he'd been playing too much _Left For Dead_ with House. He really needed to get a life.

He needed to stop drinking with House was what he really should do. Even now after the whole Mayfield incident, the bastard could still drink his ass under the table like his liver had some how just regenerated, glad to be back in its state of inebriated deterioration. The man was a machine.

Wilson cracked one eye open. Immediately, he regretted doing so as the white-hot light blinded him into a screeching, searing pain that shot straight through his retina into his cerebral cortex. He clamped his eye shut, squinting away the purple afterimage as that made his stomach tilt and whirl like a kiddie ride at a carnival.

Wilson let out an inaudible groan that caught in the Sahara dessert that was his throat. Peeling his tongue off of the roof of his mouth, he tried to salivate as least a drop so he could swallow the bile rising its way up his esophagus like a really bad case of GERD.

"House, I hate you," he croaked.

A duck quacked at him in response.

_A duck? _

Wilson cracked his eye open again, shielding himself from the laser beam of drunken karma coming back on him with a vengeance.

_Quack, quack-quack, quack_…

_What the hell?_

Wilson blinked his eyes three, four and then five times before he could focus his pupils on anything that wasn't a large dark object in the room. He heaved his drunken, tired body into sitting and looked to see where this quacking sound was coming from.

_Quack_.

He swung his head to the left, immediately regretting it as the horizon of the floor tilted at a precarious angle. Closing his eyes and breathing, the floor shifted back to normal upon opening his lids. Sure as shit, there was a white duck standing in front of his feet.

His feet.

_He had on sandals over his black socks? Where the hell were his Italian loafers?_

Patting his legs with his hands, he felt only hairy skin and the hem of his boxers. _Oh shit!_ He'd lost his pants. Again. _Fucking great._

He pressed his hands to his face rubbing the alcohol-induced stupor from his eyes. Scrubbing a few times, he paused. Something didn't feel right. Dragging his fingers over his left eye, he felt around. Skin, smooth bare skin. _Wait a minute… Right eye, eyelid, eyelashes, skin, hair, eyebrow._

He moved his fingers to the left again. Eyelid, lashes, skin, skin, more skin…

Where the FUCK WAS HIS EYEBROW!

_Oh that was it!_

"House!" Wilson bellowed at the top of his lungs.

The duck at his feet began to quack incessantly. _Quack, quack-quack, quack, quack, quack-quack, quack… _

Wilson was out of his mind with rage. That mother fucker! After all he did for him, by taking his ass in, baby-sitting him in his time of need, putting up with his shit all over the apartment. This was how he repaid him? By shaving off his eyebrow? Oh, he was a fucking dead man.

Wilson rose to stand but stumbled two steps forward. He tried to regain his footing but crashed into the lamp on the floor, nearly hitting the duck, who quacked in annoyance at him. "Well, excuse me," he muttered. "Get the hell out of the way then."

"House!" Wilson traipsed into the living room of their suite. "I'm gonna fucking beat you with your cane and then cut off your head leaving you with only one eyebrow, you son of a bitch!"

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><p>"<em>House<em>!"

House heard a crash… _and a duck?_ He slammed his eyes shut.

_God, that was one wild ass dream_. He'd been having those since he'd been off the Vicodin. Like the flood gates to his subconscious had opened up and had gone Caligula on him. This one was quite spectacular, though.

_What the fuck was a duck quacking for_?

"Jesus Christ, shut that duck up!" he barked.

Wilson came into the room crashing into things, muttering something loudly about one eyebrow. _What the hell was he going on about?_ He had just called him a 'son of a bitch'…

"Leave my mother out of this," House grumbled. Suddenly, something moved on top of him. Something sticky, like sweaty skin on skin.

House cracked his eye open and saw reddish brown hair draped over his chest. _Holy shit, it was a woman_. A naked woman to be exact. On top of his _naked_ body?

"Whoa, ho, ho…" Wilson exclaimed. "OH MY GOD!"

Before House could grasp what was going on, the woman screamed and bolted off of his body. Her actions were so quick that he rolled off the couch, landing with a thud onto the floor. _What the fuck_?

Righting himself he stood, naked as a jaybird in front of Wilson and… Thirteen?

"House?"

"Thirteen?"

"You're naked?"

"You're naked?"

"Why are you naked?" Thirteen shrieked grabbing at a zebra striped pillow to cover only part of her essentials.

"Why are you naked?" he demanded, clutching his hand over his own privates.

_Well, this was embarrassing_.

"Did I have sex with you?"

"I don't know," he retorted. "It sure looks like we did."

She closed her eyes on grimace of disgust. "Oh god!"

"Hey, you were the one on top of me, there sweetheart," he defended himself. _Geesh, she didn't have to make it sound so revolting_. "You obviously liked it! And why the fuck are you here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be in Thailand?"

"I can assure you I didn't like it! And I was at a medical conference," she retorted. "What's your excuse?"

"We're at the same medical conference," he told her.

"Oh my god, will somebody put clothes on!" Wilson covered his eyes and spun around to face the wall, spastically throwing his arm out to the side in his frantic gestured of panic. Wilson had no pants on, his dress shirt, half a tie and black trouser socks with sandals on. He looked a sight.

House looked around at his surroundings. They were in their suite at the top of the Bellagio in Las Vegas. Everywhere he turned, he saw remnants of a party of epic magnitude. There were empty bottles and glasses strewn about. Clothes, none of which were his, hanging from the chandelier. Empty bags of food and a white powdery substance on the coffee table in front of him. His eyes went wide. "We did cocaine?"

"What?" Thirteen wailed.

"You've got to be kidding me," Wilson complained.

_Quack, qu-quack, quack_…. A white fat little duck waddled out from the bedroom and into the living room.

"Is that a duck?" Thirteen pointed to the bird as it pecked at the bits and pieces of what looked like Lucky Charms on the carpet.

"Yes, that is a duck."

House blinked his eyes surveying the damage. Wow. He was impressed. They had had a rocking party and not one of them remembered any of it.

"What the hell is a duck doing in here? And where the hell are my clothes?" Thirteen demanded as she tried desperately to find something to put on her extremely exposed body. Unable to control himself, he stole a peak at her as she fished around the piles for her underwear. She did after all just wake up on top of him… naked. Maybe her beautiful heart-shaped ass would jog his memory… Turning, she found something that satisfied her enough to put on.

House caught sight of a reddish black mark on her ass cheek. He squinted his eyes to look closer. Oh shit!

She stepped into a pair of black lace panties and gasped as she turned around. "Oww, God, my ass hurts," she turned around and touched her hand to the spot on her butt, staring at him accusatorily. "It better not be carpet burn."

Still covering his family jewels with one hand, House sheepishly scratched the back of his head with the other, making a face. "Nope, not rug burn."

Thirteen narrowed her eyes at him. "What the hell is it?"

"Um, you might wanna turn around and take a look," he suggested tentatively.

Finding a slinky black dress, she pasted it over her breasts like a sheet before turning around. "Holy mother fucking shit!"

She rotated around and flashed her eyes at him. "It's a tattoo!"

He nodded.

"It's a little house… and it says 'House's slut'!" Her eyes glared at him accusatorially.

"Um, yeah… I saw."

Wilson grumbled and sputtered, stalking back and forth near the kitchen area of the suite. "This takes the cake House. I can't even imagine what Dr. Nolan will say when he hears about this!"

House looked over at Wilson and then quirked his head to the side. "Are you missing an eyebrow?"

"Yes! As a matter of fact I am!" Wilson screeched. "I'll give you three guesses how that happened."

House spied a pair of jeans across the room and motioned for Thirteen to toss them to him. "Could you, umm, pass me my pants?" he asked, shyly. There was no way he'd be able to hobble over there and keep his 'Johnny and the Swingers' from making an encore. Begrudgingly, after stepping into her dress, she went over and picked up the jeans, tossing them to him.

A wad of cash flew out and onto the floor. A thick wad of cash. Bending over, she picked up the stack of bills. Her eyes flashed up to his and Wilson's. "It's gotta be close to $50,000."

"Fifty thousand dollars?" Wilson exclaimed. "House where did you get fifty thousand dollars from?"

House shrugged awkwardly still covering his privates. Taking pity on him, Thirteen handed him his pants and turn her back as he stepped into them. "Beats the hell out of me," he said zipping his fly. Finding him a t-shirt, Thirteen tossed that to him and then ran her hands through her hair to comb it out.

"Ouch…" she grumbled and then began to panic, struggling with her hand in her hair. "Will somebody help me, my hand is stuck."

Still with no pants on, Wilson moved over to her and tried to help her get her fingers untangled from her messy hair. House slipped on his t-shirt and watched the debacle.

Finally dislodging her hand from her hair, Wilson looked at her and then him. "It's a wedding ring."

Thirteen held her hand out and looked at her ring finger on her left hand. House could see it from way the hell over here where he was standing. It was a very large diamond with two stones on either side in a platinum setting. Most definitely worth a huge chunk of change.

"Who the fuck am I married to?"

Wilson looked at his hands. Nothing.

"Well, your tattoo says 'House's slut'…" Wilson offered.

House froze, his heart catapulting to his throat as he hurriedly glanced at his hands. Nothing. "Not me."

"Well, if it's not one of you, then who?" she wondered, her eyes big with concern.

Just then, a grumbling sound came from behind the counter in the kitchen area of the suite. All three doctors turned to look. It could be anything at this point. Person, Thirteen's unidentified husband… a gorilla?

When nothing happened, the doctors approached the counter with caution to see what was making the noise.

"You go first," House gestured to Wilson.

"No," he said angrily. "You go first."

"Why should I be the one, I'm the cripple remember?"

"Because if it kills you then I won't have to," Wilson griped.

"Oh, good Lord, will one of you just go?" Thirteen complained.

House rolled his eyes and limped heavily around the counter. There was a man laying on the floor covered in Lucky Charms. Thirteen came up behind House and tentatively touched his arm.

"It's a cop?" she said peering over his shoulder.

House shook his head. "It can't be real cop, he's probably a stripper."

"What?" Wilson questioned leaning in behind Thirteen.

"It can't be a real cop," House repeated.

"Is he dead?" she asked.

"No just sleeping," he said. The man was breathing.

"Are you sure?" Wilson asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," House groused. "Look at the way the little blue and purple marshmallows are moving back and forth on his chest."

"What should we do?" Thirteen asked.

"Just leave him there," House suggested.

"What if he's a real cop?"

"He's not a real cop," House stated. "I'm telling you, this dude's got to be a stripper. Maybe he's your husband."

"Fuck off. Look, those are real hand cuffs," she pointed. "And that's a real badge."

"And that is a real gun," Wilson said pointing to the very solid looking weapon in his holster.

House knelt down to check it out. He had just about reached the snap on the sidearm when a hand suddenly shot up and grabbed him forcefully by the arm. Shouting out a yell, House jumped back into Thirteen who jumped back into Wilson, all three of them stumbling backwards on a scream.

Hearts pounding, the trio heaved in lungfuls of air, heavily trying to catch their collective breath.

"What do you think you're doing," the officer demanded as he stood upright on the kitchen floor.

He was younger than House expected. His blonde hair dipped low over his forehead, his tanned skin looking almost unreal, like he fake baked regularly. There was so no way this guy was a real cop.

Looking completely disoriented and frightened, the officer took out his gun and aimed it at them. "Everyone put your hands up!"

House rolled his eyes. "All right Skippy, Sven, Biff whatever your 'call sign' is, the shows over. Ain't nobody gonna give you a tip here, party's done."

"House, shut up," Wilson muttered under his breath.

"I said, put your hands up," the young officer ordered more forcefully, nudging the gun at them.

"House, just do it," Thirteen begged.

House looked at both Thirteen and Wilson who both had their hands up high over their heads like little kids. Rolling his eyes, he raised his hands up to chest height and propped his hip onto the back of the sofa to take some of the burden off of his bad leg.

"Fine, I'll play your game," he grumbled. "Just so you know, your little woman over here has my name tattooed to her ass. It wasn't my fault she woke up on me naked. She assaulted me, not the other way around."

"House, you're such an asshole," Thirteen said to him from her position off to the side.

"You're not helping," Wilson muttered, as if the cop couldn't hear him.

"She's not my wife," the officer said tossing a look over his shoulder at her. "And you three are under arrest for assaulting a police officer."

House started to laugh. "What, with Lucky Charms? There's not a mark on you."

"You kidnapped me," he lifting the gun towards House's face.

"Kidnapped you?" He retorted. "We don't even know how we got back here last night. How could we possibly have kidnapped you?"

The officer looked around the room confusion beginning to take over as he took in his surroundings.

_Quack, quack, quack_…

His eyes dropped from House's face to the duck waddling across the floor to the rest of the Lucky Charms.

"Is that a duck?" he asked incredulously. "And what happened to your eye brow?"

"Yeah, we've already been through this," House said dropping his hands.

The officer became agitated. "Keep you hands up! Where I can see them!"

Sighing, House put his hands back up. "Look, we don't know anything more than you do. We just woke up, Daffy here was already in the apartment, Wilson's eyebrow was gone and Thirteen's married to someone, we don't know who, and you were passed out on the floor. That's as far as we got. We're all doctors here at the medical convention so you can put the gun down because nobody's gonna get shot."

Taking a second to contemplate his situation, the officer looked to House, to Thirteen, to Wilson to the duck and then back to House. Deciding that no one was going to jump him, he holstered his weapon and relaxed a bit.

Suddenly, a vibrating sound came from somewhere inside the couch. The group of them looked at the couch as if it would tell them why it was vibrating. Rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in the air, Thirteen took it upon herself to get close to it not waiting for them to argue about who was going to find it. She dug her hands inside the cushions searching around the perimeter. Finally, she pulled out a cell phone. It was House's.

"I think it's for you," she said holding it out to him.

He took it from her and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"_Where's my money, asshole?"_

_Uh oh_. Someone was looking for their $50,000 and they sounded pissed. "Um, sorry no speaka Inglish." He hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" Wilson asked.

"Wrong number," House shrugged. This was getting crazier by the minute. _What the hell happened last night?_

"Well, we need to find out what happened last night," Wilson said, becoming the voice of reason.

"Um, no we don't," House argued. "We need to pack our shit and get out of Dodge."

"Whoa, wait a second here. I need to know who I'm married to," Thirteen protested.

"Well it's a good thing you're here on your own then, instead of Thailand, huh?" House shot at her, making a move to go find his things. "Nice knowing ya!"

She stalked over to him and fiercely put her fists on her hips. "You know, I wouldn't have had to go to Thailand if you had just come back to work like you should have," she accused. "Then stupid Foreman wouldn't have fired me, because you would have been in charge!"

"I needed time," House argued, defensively. "Excuse me for going crazy and interrupting your plans."

"You know it's so typical, everything has to revolve around you and your twisted little world," she shot back at him. "Did you ever think for a second that what you do effects other people's lives?"

"I tried to get you to come back, but you didn't want to," he yelled at her, "You wanted to run away and hide like a scared little girl who didn't get her way. That wasn't my choice."

"You cancelled my plane tickets!"

"Everyone just STOP!" Wilson hollered. "The two of you shut up!" House and Thirteen seethed as they stared at each other for a long moment before bringing their attention to Wilson.

"We needed to figure out what happened last night," he said plainly.

"That's right," the officer agreed. "No body's going anywhere. I need to know how I wound up here passed out on the floor with one heck of a hangover while I'm supposed to be on duty. No one is leaving my sight until we figure that out."

_Quack, quack-quack, quack_…. The duck pranced back through the kitchen and down the short hall to the bedroom as if on cue.

"Well then, if you insist," House said. "Let's get started."


	2. Chapter 2: Differential

_A/N: hey chickadees! so tickled that you are enjoying this story so much. i'm really glad. lovin' all of the alerts and reviews. it's making the days just a bit brighter on my end! thank you bunches._

_So, sit back and do your thing. Enjoy..._

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><p>Vegas Hangover<p>

Chapter 2: Differential

Officer Dan kept a wary eye on them as they searched for their remaining essentials to look presentable enough to begin a search and rescue of last night's events. House had managed to find his sneakers in the microwave. Nothing seemed to be wrong with them so he put them on. He grabbed his cane from inside the grand piano, he had no idea why it would have been in there, and waited while Wilson found some pants and changed his shirt. When he came out of the bedroom, the oncologist sort of finger-combed his hair low onto his forehead to hide the fact he was missing an eyebrow. It didn't really work all that well. The gray area of his stubble glared like a beacon of drunken debauchery.

Thirteen found her black stiletto heals in a potted plant and after dumping out the dirt, slipped them on. House couldn't help but notice how shapely her long as sin legs looked in the short miniskirt of her shiny black dress. She looked good. Really good. And a little twitch of desire coursed through him. He took a moment to blatantly enjoy the view. Now, knowing what her ass looked like without anything on except for that outrageous tattoo, he simply couldn't help himself. She caught him leering when she had bent over to pick up her evening bag from under the bar. Surprisingly, she didn't glare at him. Instead, she smiled shyly and tugged the hem of her dress down an inch before turning around to ignore him.

When they finally stepped out of the elevator, the morning air was cool as they hit the outdoor breakfast patio. Thirteen shivered. Suddenly the gentleman, House gave her the over shirt he was wearing. He kind of felt like he owed her, though not really sure why. She rolled up the long sleeves and tied the long hem at the waist. As they passed by a bank of glass windows, she took a gander at herself and cried out. "Oh God, I look like fucking Pretty Woman."

Wilson rolled his eyes at her and pointed to his forehead with no sympathy. "No eyebrow."

"Branded with 'House's Slut'," she countered angrily. "At least yours will grow back. Mine's permanent."

The quartet found a table poolside to eat something and get some liquids in them before they all shriveled up and dehydrated like raisins. Thirteen chugged down her glass of orange juice as soon as the waitress placed it on the table. House grabbed his and essentially did the same; Wilson followed suit. House was parched, like he'd been sleeping all night in Death Valley with his mouth wide open. He was pretty sure that if he did have to pee, he'd piss out dust he was so dry. Before the server had a chance to walk away, they all signaled for another round of juice.

Threading her hands in her mass of long hair, Thirteen hung her head and groaned miserably. "God, the last time I felt this dehydrated I did like three tabs of ecstasy in a club in Trenton."

Wilson turned to her wide-eyed. "You think we did ecstasy?"

"Why not? He thinks we did coke," she grumbled as she rolled her eyes at House and then moved her tongue awkwardly against the roof of her mouth, grimacing. "It sure feels like it."

House took a good look at her in the morning sunlight. Her skin was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes, but it definitely wasn't just from her runny mascara. Wilson looked kind of similar. House figured he wasn't a shade too far behind. Plus, the side of his head hurt, like he had hit it on something. They were all a hot mess. Skippy included.

"Oh my god! I've never done drugs like that before," Wilson whined.

"Oh come on," House grunted at him. "Stop being such a baby. We partied hard, big deal."

"House, I can't remember _anything_ from last night and I think I'm still drunk, or high, or both, and I have an Oncology seminar to attend in…" he squinted at his watch, "an hour."

"No one is going anywhere, remember, until I find out what happened," Officer Dan chimed in, looking a little green around the edges. "And please stop talking about doing drugs in front of me. I could arrest you all for possession."

"We used all the drugs already, Captain Dano. They're gone," House said. "Besides, possession is a misdemeanor."

"Oh I'm sorry, not all of us have your misdemeanor experience," Wilson groused.

Thirteen waved her hand at him, the one with the huge rock on it. It glinted mockingly in the morning sunlight. "It's really not that big of a deal. What is a big deal is that I'm married to someone and I have no idea who he is!"

"Or _she_," House tossed in. "_Thirteen_/_Thirty-one_… Remember, she likes to do it both ways."

Thirteen sneered at him. "You're such an ass."

"Same sex marriage is illegal in Nevada," the young officer told her, trying to be reassuring.

"Well, look at it this way, that narrows it down to half the population," Wilson added hopefully.

"How are we going to figure this out if I don't even know where I got married?" she asked around the table helplessly.

The waitress brought another round of orange juices and waited with bored patience while they all drank heartily before stopping to order coffee and some eggs and toast for breakfast. She looked about as thrilled to work the breakfast shift in Vegas as he was working off a kidney's worth of hours in the clinic. People drunk and hung over, hoping for some shred of miracle to make their head stop pounding. Hell, that would have been an easy day for him. He'd trade places with her in a heartbeat.

House ran his hand over his forehead rubbing his eyes. The angry pounding was starting to dissipate to a ticked-off throb with the sustenance of fructose and vitamin C.

Thirteen's hand shot out and grabbed his arm "What is this?"

House looked at his wrist. He squinted at the printed logo but without his glasses, it was hard to see. "I can't read it but it looks like a hospital tag."

She pulled his arm closer to her. "It says Desert Springs Hospital. House, you were in the hospital last night!"

House looked at the tag in amazement. "Well, that's good. We have a clue now."

"How is that good?" Wilson demanded incredulously. "We have no idea what could have happened to you."

"Well, obviously I'm smarter than the average doctor," House looked at hm. "But they don't normally let seriously injured people out of the Emergency Room. I'm fine. I have a killer hangover like the rest of you."

"We should probably go to the hospital to find out what happened," Officer Dan suggested as he gingerly sipped his coffee.

"Maybe you're not so blonde after all," House agreed. "We'll go after breakfast."

Thirteen sat back against the chair and looked into her little bag for something. She screwed her face up into a confused grimace and took out a set of keys. "These are not my car keys."

House took them from her. "They aren't ours either," he said looking at the two dice connected to a white rabbit's foot chain. "We had the regular rental car keys."

He tapped his pockets. "Everyone check your pockets, we may find more clues to where we went last night." Reaching in, he found the rental keys for their car, a matchbook from a strip club, a couple of receipts and some gum.

Wilson shrugged. "I lost my pants, so I've got nothing."

Thirteen pulled out another receipt and a tiny plastic Ziploc bag. She held up the bag between her fingers and frowned. "Definitely X."

"Ok, check your receipts," House told her and then opened up his.

"Mine's from Walmart," Thirteen said. "$10.52. Sandals at… 2:12AM." Her eyes slid to Wilson. "Well, now we know where your fashionable footwear came from."

"That's perfect," Wilson grumbled. "Those shoes were Italian leather."

House took a look at the papers in his hand. Squinting at the tiny pale letters, he held the slip at arm's length and then growled in frustration. "Shit, I can't read that either."

Wilson grabbed them. "This is from the House of Blues for $700."

"Oh! I think I remember going there," Thirteen said leaning forward expectantly.

House furrowed his brow trying to recall. "Yeah, me too. BB King was there right?" He jogged his memory. Flashes of memory came to him like the strains of blues music. "God, I'd give my left arm to play with him."

Her eyes grew huge and she waved her arm excitedly at him. "No, you did. Oh my God! Jax McCallan is his drummer. We used to date. I texted him in between sets and got you time on stage with BB King."

"By date, you mean had sex with," House said. _Ok, yeah, why did that bother him?_

She made a face. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You played on stage with BB King last night!"

"Fuck! I wish I could remember that," he shook his head. And then suddenly a flash of memory came to him. He was shaving off Wilson's eyebrow. He started to chuckle. "Um… I shaved off your eyebrow."

"Of course you did," Wilson grumbled. "I don't need the Scooby Gang to figure that one out."

"Ohhhh," Thirteen gasped. "You bet him that he couldn't hold his own with BB King on stage and you said you'd shave your left eyebrow to see him do it. But that's like the last thing I remember."

"What?" the oncologist looked at her incredulously. "I would never…"

"Don't look so indignant," House tossed at him. "You once swallowed twenty goldfish on a bet that I wouldn't break into Cuddy's house and hook up a Die Hard to her vibrator."

Wilson nodded ruefully. "Yeah, true."

"What time does it say on there?" House inquired.

"Umm… 10:06pm."

"Ok, so we went to dinner… around what, 7:00?" he said and Wilson nodded. "Then we went to the casino bar after, which is where we met you." He pointed at Thirteen, recalling the surprise that hit him like a two by four when he saw her turn around in the that slinky black cocktail dress.

He glanced surreptitiously at her, struck again by just how beautiful she was even hung over and looking a little like a drowned cat. She frowned her full pouty lips and nodded her head slowly, trying to recall. "Yes, there was some asshole at the bar next to me getting all touchy feely."

"And you stepped in pretending to be her boyfriend to get him away from her," Wilson added, light dawning on him now. House shook his head. _Yeah, she was gorgeous but he was not that chivalrous. _

Thirteen snapped her fingers. "Yes, and before we took off, I slipped the joint he was bragging about out of his pocket."

"Right," House said following the train. He had a flash of them outside inside their rental car. "We smoked it…"

"Before going into the House of Blues," she said as it came to her.

Officer Dan rolled his eyes shaking his head about the drug use.

"Relax Opie, Pa ain't gonna find out." House turned back to Wilson. "Ok, so that takes us right up to 10:00."

"None of that explains why you kidnapped me," Officer Dan added.

"We didn't kidnap you," House rolled his eyes.

Wilson then looked at the remaining receipts. "Good God! There's a receipt from the Bellagio… you took out twenty grand!"

"Twenty grand?" Thirteen gaped at him.

Officer Dan shrugged realizing that he had no choice but to help them iron this crazy situation out. "The Bellagio has a high rollers table with a twenty grand buy in."

"Holy fuck!" Wilson shook his head.

House shrugged. It didn't really surprise him. "I guess that's where the fifty grand came from, I must have won it." He tipped his head to the side, wishing he could remember that too; that was probably a freaking good time. But then again, there was the angry voice that had called him demanding to know where his money was. Maybe he had won it from him and he was pissed and wanted it back? _But how did the guy get his cell phone number?_ That part he didn't understand.

Suddenly, Wilson's face contorted in bafflement. "The last one is a slip from Tesorini?" His eyes bugged out. "For $15,000!"

House looked at Officer Dan curiously. He seemed to be their only source of answers at present. "What is Tesorini?"

"I honestly don't know," the young officer shrugged.

"There's an awful lot of money being thrown around," Thirteen said and then tossed a look at House. "When did you become Mr. Moneybags?"

"Apparently I'm pretty loose when I'm high," House said sipping his coffee, he gestured to her with is hand. "Evidently you are too."

"Again, fuck off," she retorted with a sneer.

"Well, I think you owe me about $50,000, for all my pain and suffering over the years," Wilson held out his hand. "Time to pay up, Daddy Warbucks."

"Fuck that," House scoffed. "We've got to figure out what the hell happened last night. And Cinderella here's gotta find her prince. So, we need a plan people."

"Well, if there's a medical bracelet on your arm, don't you think we should start there first?" Officer Dan suggested. "Desert Springs is only a few minutes away."

They finished breakfast. House bypassed the bill and handed it to Wilson. When Wilson nearly stabbed House in the hand with his dirty fork, House tossed his corporate American Express onto the table. "Relax, breakfast's on Cuddy."


	3. Chapter 3: Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman

_A/N: Count down to freedom. Final exams start tomorrow for the kiddies... But it will be an all out grading-palooza for the next 5 days. Ah, what price freedom! Oh well, small sacrifices. Anyway, here is the next installment of our Hangover tour. Watch as the mystery unfolds..._

_Thanks to everyone who has favorited, alerted and reviewed, if i didn't get to personally RSVP to you. You guys rock._

_Enjoy!_

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><p>Vegas Hangover<p>

Chapter 3: Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman

When they found their rental car was not in the valet at the Bellagio, they decided to take a cab to the Desert Springs Hospital. Remy listened to her high heels clack against the tile floor as they entered the emergency room intake area. The sound was vaguely reminiscent of a certain hospital administrator she begrudgingly admired for her ballsy 'take no prisoners' demeanor. Looking down at her chest peeking through House's wrinkled shirt, she smirked. Her dress wasn't too far off either.

The sound of House's cane as he tapped it obnoxiously on the counter, drew her attention. "Excuse me Nurse Whatever Your Name Is, I was a patient here last night and I need to see Dr…" he peered at the tag on his arm but still couldn't read it without his glasses. Unceremoniously, he thrust his arm into Remy's face.

She fingered the tab and then shoved his arm away as she read the name. "Quinn, Dr. A Quinn."

"And make it fast, would ya? We're all doctors too, except for Skippy, the police officer right there," he said thumbing his finger over his shoulder at Office Dan. "We're on official business, so chop, chop."

The nurse pursed her lips into a disgruntled frown and then turned to walk away. Presumably to go in search of the doctor. However, if House's wit and charm transcended the continental divide, the woman was probably off to blatantly ignore him and preferably go give an enema.

"Don't you think it would have been better to be _less_ condescending when asking for her help since these nurses probably didn't get the memo that they were supposed to 'fear' you?" Wilson quipped as he looked around the waiting area.

"Nurses are nurses, anyone whose job description includes changing bedpans, are just glorified beck and call girls," House shrugged.

"Really?" Remy rolled her eyes at him with a disgusted snort. "How ever are you still single?"

Just then, a female doctor rounded the corner to place a chart into the box. She was a tall woman, reddish hair with an attractive face. She glanced at them and then did a double take.

"Dr. House! You're back. I told you that you needed to stay in the hospital overnight for observation," she admonished sharply. She came over to him, grabbed his head with her hands and then began flashing a pen light into his eyes.

House tried to swat her hands away from him and growled uselessly in aggravation. Her grip was firm, and she refused to let go. "Stop doing that. I didn't say you could touch me." His infuriated expression was priceless and Remy had to laugh.

"Dizziness, blurred vision, nausea, vomiting?" the doctor queried as she clicked her penlight and stowed it back into her coat pocket.

"No," he railed. "None of that. My brain was just fine until you seared my retinas with your ambush pen technique."

"You have a moderate concussion," she stated. "Aside from your alcoholic stupor last night, you had post-traumatic memory loss and mental confusion. You should have stayed for observation."

"Obviously I'm fine," he began but Wilson stepped forward and cut him off.

"Listen Dr. Quinn," he said turning on his disarming charisma. "We are a little uncertain of the events that brought my friend here to the ER last night and we were wondering if you might be able to help us."

"You mean you don't remember?" she looked at him concerned.

"No, we're trying to retrace our steps and piece back the events of last evening," Wilson explained.

The doctor put her hand on her hip and looked at all four of them seriously. "Officer, you don't remember that you brought them in after a car accident?"

"A car accident?" Remy squeaked looking at both Wilson and House in shock. The two men were equally taken aback.

"No ma'am, I don't," Officer Dan said quietly, ashamed that he was caught up in this whole mess.

"Well, maybe that explains why we have keys but no car?" House looked around at the group.

Remy shrugged at him, thinking it was as good a reason as any.

"Can you tell us anything about what you know?" Wilson asked the doctor politely. "It would be really helpful."

She guided them into a curtained area so they could talk privately after grabbing House's file from the slot of charts needing to be signed. She took a seat on one of the metal stools and opened the file.

"Ok… it says here, that you were involved in a motor vehicle accident at approximately 2:00am. You were the driver," she said pointing to House. "And sustained a head injury, blacked out for a minute and have a couple of bruised ribs. The rest of you were fine. Drunker than Lindsay Lohan on a good day, but fine."

House nodded and touched his head gingerly. "Well, I guess that also explains the goose egg on the side of my head."

The doctor flipped through the chart. "Blood results came back this morning. Ah…" she sighed. "The reason you don't remember anything is because they found traces of MDMA and Flunitrazepam in your system."

"Roofies?" House exclaimed.

"Someone gave us roofies?" Remy stepped forward. The MDMA was the ecstasy, which they already knew about, but Ruffalin, that was a shock. "How the hell could that have happened?"

"Someone must have slipped them into your drinks," the doctor said casually as if it were an everyday occurrence. In Vegas, truth be told, it probably was.

"We know _how_ that could have happened," House retorted arrogantly, "We _are_ doctors. What we're wondering is when, and seriously how that could have happened to _all of us_."

"Can benzos be smoked?" Wilson asked curiously, eyeing Remy. She grimaced in dismay back at him knowing exactly where he was going with this. He was thinking it might have been in the joint she got from the groper at the bar. It was distinct possibility.

"Not that I know of," the doctor said furrowing her brow. "Usually it's ingested."

Pursing his lips and drawing a thumb over his eyebrow, House avoided eye contact and nodded his head hesitantly. "Uhh…Yeah, they can."

"Oh good lord!" Wilson groaned and raised his hand up waving it in flustered irritation. "I don't even want to know how you know that."

House rolled his eyes and ignored his friend. "The roofies had to be in that joint," he said and then looked at Remy. "And you got it from that creeper at the bar, so it's not a stretch that he was planning on smoking it with you or some other unsuspecting barfly."

"Oh God! That's really disturbing," Remy said, thinking about how she could have been prey to that weirdo who smelled like a bizarre combination of pizza and Calvin Klein's Obsession. A wave of nausea came over her and she shook her head. _Ewww, scent memory was so cruel sometimes._

House raised his eyebrows at her. "Tell me about it. And you still wound up married to some stranger anyway."

"Oh, you're the one who got married?" the doctor asked turning her attention toward Remy.

Remy grimaced. "Yes, why?"

"Well you guys kept talking about how you missed the annulment and what were you going to do, that some guy named Mickey was going to be pissed," she relayed.

"Mickey? Mickey who?" Remy asked anxiously.

"Mickey Mouse, how the hell should I know?" the doctor griped at them, obviously tired from her overnight shift. "All I know is that you guys missed some kind of meeting with him, probably the annulment to your ill-advised wedding, because of the accident. Hopefully, you can get in touch with him and be done with it."

"Did we happen to mention where it was?" Remy asked hopefully.

The doctor thought for a moment and then it came to her. "Yes, The Little White Chapel."

Remy let out a huge sigh of relief. She felt like she could hug the woman. "Oh my God! Thank you so much Dr. Quinn. You have no idea how glad that makes me."

The doctor frowned. "Oh unfortunately, Miss, I know all to well." She rose from the stool and looked at House one more time. "Your left eye is still a little slow. No more alcohol, drugs or car accidents for a week."

House went to say something but Wilson stepped in front of him and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you so much, Dr. Quinn, you've been a tremendous help."

"Just stay out of trouble," she said and moved the curtain out of the way. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients I need to see."

The doctor left the quartet alone in the exam area to decide what their plan of attack was.

"Guys, we have to go to the Little White Chapel and see if they can give us information about who I married," Remy turned to them, feeling for the first time like she might have good chance of getting out of this mess.

"We also need to get our rental car back," Wilson said. "If it's been in an accident, we're liable for the damages."

"Oh great, see I told you, you should have gotten the insurance," House remarked sarcastically. Wilson looked like he might haul off and hit him.

"Well how are we going to find the car?" Remy asked. "We have no idea where it is?"

"Barney Fife, here, should know," House contended. "Where would our car be, genius?"

The young officer ran his hand over the back of his head. "Umm, yeah… The car would have been towed to one of the wrecking companies we use…but…"

"But what?" Wilson stepped forward.

"But…I'm thinking since I brought you here," he began nervously. "I must have just taken you in the squad car and not called an ambulance, so umm…it…"

"Spit it out, there, Sparkly, we don't have all day," House urged him impatiently.

The young man frowned pathetically and then lifted his eyes to Wilson, the less dangerous of the two men. "I'm thinking, we probably left the car in the road somewhere so I wouldn't have to file a report and it was probably towed to impound."

"Impound? Great, that's just great!" Wilson stalked away and House stared at him for a moment. "I'm never going to get my security deposit back."

"You would seriously just leave a car and drive away to cover your own ass?" House looked at him with a shade of incredulousness and more than a touch of respect.

Remy could see the wheels turning inside House's slightly cracked head. He leaned on his cane casually and held out his hand offering up the solution. "Next on the agenda is we go to impound with you and you get the car back."

"I can't show up at impound in a cab with the three of you!" The officer looked like her was about to have a break down. "How am I supposed to explain that?"

"Look, you're already up shit's creek, and unless we can magically wave a wand to fix your patrol car, which by the way, we have no idea where that is either, there's not a whole lot we can do for you right now. We need _our_ car back and then we have to get to the chapel to see who Bridezilla married." He turned and cast a glace at Remy and then to Wilson who as pacing back toward them after his little time-out.

Remy's hackles got up at his unwarranted slight and she wanted to punch House herself. "Call me Bridezilla again and I will definitely go ninja on your gimpy ass," Remy shot at him disgruntledly.

"Hey, there's no need to call me names," House looked decidedly hurt by her words.

She glared at him and then raised her hands in frustration. _How dare he look so wounded?_ He had no right to look so… _dare she say, cute?_ But, he wasn't cute by any stretch of the imagination. She knew he was like that little dinosaur in _Jurassic Park_… he may have looked adorable at the outset but then BAM! He could turn on you and shred your face in 2.5 seconds flat. _Ha… pretending like she'd hurt his feelings with that adorable sexy little pout._ He had been busting on her all morning. He deserved that little shot.

"You called me names first and mine was really more of a description not a name," she protested, placing her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, a _mean_ description," he argued, still pouting.

"And Bridezilla isn't mean?"

"If you two could stop with the playground mating dance maybe we could be on our way?" Wilson interjected impatiently.

Remy looked at House who just rolled his eyes in return. He held out his hand and gestured for her to go ahead. "After you…"


	4. Chapter 4: Extremis Malis

_Hello All, I must apologize, I am a day or so off of my update and for those of you chomping at the bit to know what's going on, I know that must be sheer torture! So please forgive me. School has finally wrapped up and the next wave of unprepared and totally ignorant children have graduated into the cold cruel world. Some will find a way to survive, because they really do have a brain in there some where, and more will simply ask "Paper or plastic" before they swipe the item over the bar code scanner waiting for the inevitable beep that will become the soundtrack of their life. I say this, not to begrudge those who do that important job (better them, than me) but more because i dream of a place where lower income children can find a resiliency inside to dream bigger for themselves than just, "Oh, i passed with a 60 for the year, awesome, I gave as little effort as I could and still got away with it". And yet, our politicians are blaming teachers for the collapse of the economy, the retched states of affairs in the world and most certainly the hole in the ozone, because we simply are lazy and don't work as hard as them corporate types. Last a day in my world from 7:30 to 3... and maintain your insanity when a kid says to you, "Get the fuck out of my face! It's my cellphone, you don't pay my bills and you can't take it"- despite the fact it clearly states in the disciplinary code not to even have it powered on in class... Yeah, we teachers don't deserve a pension or health benefits. Greedy bastards, we are. (June 23rd, 2011 ~ New Jersey)_

_Anyway, off my soapbox... this whole story is unbeta-ed, all mistakes are because my brain is faster than my fingers and the weird auto correct in Word and how it transfers over here. And if i haven't replied to your review, i might not have gotten an email... i hear there's some weird things going on with the alert system. So i whole heartedly thank you guys for reading! You are the best!_

_Enjoy!_

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><p>Vegas Hangover<p>

Chapter 4: Extremis malis, Extrema remedia

Officer Dan Brimley couldn't believe he was caught up in this mess. These people were lunatics. Each of them was worse than the next. Doctor Wilson seemed to be the most sane. And the hot chick… the old cranky dude kept calling her Thirteen. That was just weird. The two obviously had the hots for each other and were in complete denial about it. The man had to be gay to ignore her. She was one of the most beautiful women Dan had ever laid eyes on. And he lived in Vegas. Beautiful women were everywhere.

However, this was certainly one fucked up morning. He'd seen crazy people before. But these three were doctors. He wasn't sure what unsettled him more. That they'd engaged in some pretty outlandish behavior for people who should have known better or that they seemed to be taking it relatively in stride, as if this sort of thing were an everyday occurrence for them.

He, for one, was not having such an easy time. He was so going to lose his job over this one. Shelley would leave him, take their unborn baby and run straight to her bitch mother's house. His mother-in-law's raspy, smoker's voice echoed around his head. "_He's an dumb twit, Shelley. I told you so_." Once they found out about this latest misjudgment, he wouldn't be left with a pot to piss in. He was desperate. And his uncle Jonas always said, desperate men do desperate things. Well, he was desperate all right. He's do just about anything, like follow these three crazy people around greater Las Vegas, to ensure that his whole life didn't wash down the drain like a bad night at the Imperial Palace buffet.

When the cab pulled up at the impound yard, Dan ran his hands down the wrinkles in his shirt to straighten his uniform and adjusted his utility belt. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding his hand out to stop the cranky old doctor before he limped headlong into the unknown, precarious situation of what happened to their cars.

"I'm going to need you folks to stay out here while I handle talking to the attendant," Dan said, proud of himself with the authoritative demeanor of his voice. He'd never really been one to instill fear or influence even with his academy training. He wasn't sure how it was going to work for him now.

Of course, the smartass doctor wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. "Listen Shaggy, I'd bet dollars to donuts that I've got more experience dealing with these kinds of guys than you. So, why don't you just step aside and let me do the talking."

Dan's hand shook a little when he placed it on the taller man's chest but he took another deep breath and dredged up all of his resolve. "No sir, now step back to the car or I'll have to handcuff you to the fence."

Dr. House's scruffy face screwed up into a confused grimace and he stared at him with his intense laser beam eyes. No doubt that was a look he'd used many a time to get people to cower to his every whim, but when Dan didn't burst into flames, his confidence grew and he stood his ground. He narrowed his own eyes and set his jaw firmly, returning the man's stare with a confidence he didn't know he could muster. The two men engaged in a battle of wills for a long, intense moment. Dan wasn't going to back down now.

"House, let the man do his job," Dr. Wilson urged with a practiced air of patience. This seemed to be a familiar dance for them. _Poor bastard, why in the world did he put up with this asshole for a friend?_

Relenting, the older man rolled his eyes and backed off with a mutter oath under his breath. Dan let out a surreptitious breath of relief, grateful to not have to take down a limping old doctor with a cane, and turned toward the main gate of the impound yard. The sun was hot and the faded asphalt of the drive was beginning to heat up. Dan could feel the heat radiating up his tan uniformed pant legs. He was beginning to sweat, partially from the heat and partially from the nerves wrapping a vice around his gut. _Desperate men_… He swallowed thickly and forged on.

Dan shook his head and ignored the hushed bickering of the incongruously beleaguered trio behind him as he approached the small bulletproof window.

"Hello, I'm Officer Brimley, a friend of mine's car was found abandoned on the side of the road last night and was brought here to impound. Is there anyway that we could, I don't know, skip the formalities and just get him his vehicle back?"

The greasy junkyard man lifted his once red cap from his sweaty forehead and ran his hand over his wiry grey head. "If I say 'yes', what's in it for me?"

Dan looked around and then brought his eyes back to the old man. "What would it take to do me this favor?"

The older man sighed and then flashed him a brilliantly sneaky, albeit toothless, grin. "There's been some break-ins in the area over the last couple of weeks. In fact, one happened just last night. Rufus over there done-near caught the slime ball." A crooked finger pointed at a big, angry looking black dog lying behind the fence. The dog was so tough the ruthless sun on his back and the scorching asphalt on his belly didn't seem to faze him as he continued to chew diligently on something. "I've been forced to carry a .38 in the back of my truck and have been cited for carrying a concealed weapon without a permit. Now if that were to magically go away…"

Dan gnawed on his lip for a moment. That seemed easy enough to handle. He could simply lose the paperwork, that was, if he could ever get back inside the station house… He looked back at his posse of deranged doctors and then at his wedding ring. Getting their car back seemed to be the only way to iron this mess out. _Desperate times, called for desperate measures_. "Done."

"I'd thought you'd see it my way," the man laughed and then broke into a wheezing cough as he grabbed a large key ring and a dirty clipboard from the hook and began to waddle outside.

"Let's see here," the man murmured as he rounded the edge of the shack. "The only car brought in last night was found out by Decatur Blvd."

Dan looked back at the group. All of who shrugged. He figured they had as good a chance as any of it being the car. "Let's take a look." Of course it didn't the answer the question of where his patrol car was, but one mystery at a time…

The man wandered in his dingy overalls into the fenced in corral and disappeared in search of the car. Dan motioned for his companions to come near the large fence gate. The motion stirred the beast dog and drew his attention away from whatever he was chewing. The animal rose up in a split second and launched himself at the chain link fence snarling like a ferocious beast.

All four of them jumped back, startled. But the dog's eyes trained on Dr. Wilson who had suddenly gone white as a ghost.

"What a cute puppy. I think you've made a friend," Dr. House commented snidely.

Dr. Thirteen held onto Dr. House's arm and used him as a shield. _Yup, they definitely had the hots for each other_. "That's no dog. That's a savage beast."

"I think we've found your shoes," House pointed toward a mangled pair of brown leather shoes.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Dr. Wilson exclaimed in dismay. "Those were five hundred dollar Italian loafers!"

"The attendant said there was a break in last night," Dan interjected. A vague flash of Dr. Wilson running toward the fence and the sound of fabric tearing reminded him of the scene last night. His fine expensive pants. "From the looks of it, I think that was you."

Dr. House flashed a sort maniacally giddy grin. "That's what you get for scaling a fence in the middle of the night in prissy Italian loafers."

"Why would I break into an impound yard?" Dr. Wilson gestured incredulously.

"Maybe we thought it was a smart idea to steal the car back," Dr. Thirteen suggested.

"That sounds plausible," House agreed.

"That sounds asinine!" Wilson disagreed.

"Well, it's virtually impossible to steal a car out of the impound lot, so we probably left and then went to Walmart to pick you up a pair a sandals, since… well, you know," Dan motioned to the now shredded fine leather.

Just then, the old attendant pulled up with a car still attached to the hook on the tow truck. All four of them turned to face the approaching vehicle. What they saw had them flabbergasted. It was a white 1989 Rolls Royce Cornish. A beautiful car. Once upon a time… Now it had a cracked windshield, a mangled fender and a missing driver's side door.

The cranky old doctor burst out in laughter. "Holy shit!"

"That's your car?" Thirteen exclaimed.

"Not our car," House replied, tickled beyond belief. Yep, the grin was a full-blown Cheshire cat smile. Definitely maniacal.

"Then whose car is it?" she questioned.

"Who the hell would rent a Rolls Royce Cornish?" Dr. Wilson replied.

"You'd be surprised," Dan replied. "This is Vegas. And that's definitely the car you were driving," he informed them. He did remember that much now as his murky memory was starting to clear into shapes and flashes.

House reached into his pocket and pulled out the dice and rabbit's foot key chain. "I guess there's only on way to find out," he said and gestured toward the old man. "Let her down."

The winch creaked and groaned as the man lowered the busted car to the ground. House hobbled over to the car and climbed in. When the engine turned over with a cough and a sputter, Wilson groaned in dismay.

House simply smiled a cheeky grin at them. "Well kids, let's follow the bread crumb trail to Granny's. We need to see a chapel about a wedding."


	5. Chapter 5: Chapel of Love

_A/N: Ok, so I re-watched the chapel scene from Hangover today to get the flow of what happened. God, that guy was funny. Anyway, of course, I tailored it to my own silly little story. I hope you likey. :D_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Vegas Hangover<p>

Chapter 5: Chapel of Love

Remy's stomach twisted in knots as they drove closer and closer to the Little White Chapel. Some of it was House's driving. Most of it was the sheer dread of what she was going to discover about her night of inebriated lunacy.

For the life of her, she couldn't even believe she'd been so stupid as to agree to marry some stranger. Sure, she'd done the whole slut thing before, picking up strange women, and men, at bars for an anonymous one night stand. Everybody had. She'd even gone so far as to do it night after night for a week. Of course, that was really more of a self-flagellation thing, but that wasn't the point. She was dying. She'd deserved a little self-wallowing.

But this? This was just plain moronic. She got married. To a stranger. The whole 'in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part' bullshit. Yeah well, whoever he was, he sure got more than he bargained for. That part of the vows could be taken quite literally.

However, there was still a sneaking suspicion that either one of her companions had taken the plunge with her. Wilson was a serial husband. It wasn't a stretch to think he'd get drunk-married to some woman. And House was a serial liar. She wouldn't put it past him to lie about it, pretend like they got annulled and then knock her off sooner rather than later for the insurance money. Ok maybe that was a little harsh, but seriously. He would totally lie about something like that and then open his big fat mouth about it to the entire hospital. That he had actually done before. Of course, he was hallucinating all sorts of weird fantasy's about Cuddy when he did it. Hell, she really couldn't even blame him. She had even dreamt a few of them herself. The woman was a hell of a piece of ass with a rack and a half to boot. Frankly, Remy was a little jealous of their boss's assets. Her A cups didn't quite measure up.

At any rate, Remy was married. And she didn't even know her last name, as the song went.

When House pulled the ridiculously, busted up Rolls Royce into the pink and white chapel parking lot, Remy got out of the car and threw up for good measure. Her nerves and her equilibrium just couldn't take it anymore.

Wilson came up beside her and rubbed a tender hand over her back. He held back her hair patiently as she finished dry heaving. He really was a nice man.

House simply grunted as he came around the broken car and barely deigned to look at her. "You're gonna want some gum before you meet the dear husband," he grumbled and stared out to the sunny horizon.

"House," Wilson warned.

"And where exactly would I get some gum anyway," she said and then muttered under her breath, "asshole."

"You could check the glove box?" Officer Dan pointed at the dashboard. "Then maybe we could see who owns the car. Maybe it belongs to your secret husband."

"Oh, that's fucking brilliant!" House interjected. "How come none of you idiots thought to check the glove compartment to see whose rental car this is?"

"Oh, maybe because I was more concerned about finding out who I'm married to?" she spat at him. _Man, he was really pissing her off_. "Excuse me if that's more important to me right now, rather than your fucked up rental car."

"We didn't rent this car," he retorted. "Why would we rent a Roll Royce? A Ferrari yes, but a granny mobile?"

"Hey, if the shoe fits," she tossed back at him.

"Will you two both calm down," Wilson stepped in between them and held his hands up against their chests as referee. "We have more important things to do here than claw each other's eyes out." He turned to Officer Dan and gestured toward the car. "If you could just take a look?"

The young policeman opened the only car door, irony that that was, and sat in the passenger seat to open the glove box. He removed the paperwork and read them silently. A slow smile dawned on his face.

"What?" House limped over.

"Who does it say?" Wilson asked.

Officer Dan stepped out of the car and held up the registration. "It says it belongs to Wayne Newton."

"Wayne Newton?" All three of them recited out loud in utter disbelief.

"As in some two bit impersonator, 'Wayne Newton'?" House pressed.

"No, as in the honest to goodness, _Mr. Las Vegas_, Wayne Newton," Officer Dan stated with a touch of amusement, tempered with a little dose of admiration. He was impressed. Remy groaned. God, she hoped she hadn't married Wayne Newton. Wasn't he gay anyway?

"Wayne Newton?" Wilson repeated, completely bemused. "How the hell did we wind up with Wayne Newton's car?"

"Well, Lucy… if we ever see him, we got some 'splainin to do," House said as he gestured his hand grandly taking in the whole cracked up visage of the car.

"I'd say Mr. Las Vegas is gonna kick your asses," Remy said with a laugh. It would serve him right.

"All right, well, that's one mystery solved, at any rate," House said. He poked his cane toward the pink and red trellis in front of the door to the chapel. "Onward so we can find out who Mr. Lucky Thirteen is." He leaned on his cane and then spun around to flash them all a cheek grin. "Who knows, maybe it's Elvis?"

Remy rolled her eyes and edged past him to enter the building.

The place was decked out in heavy red and gold brocades, white columns with rose vines spun around them and rows of Christmas lights. Oh and lest she forget, the convenient ATM machine in the corner to pay for your gaudy drive through wedding. Tacky. She was almost more embarrassed that she got married here than the fact that she'd actually taken the plunge.

"Oh, get the fuck outta here, you come back? What, you crazy mother-fuckers miss me?"

A short hairy-armed, foreign looking man walked out of the back room holding his Sasquatch arms wide open with a brilliant, creepy smile. He seemed genuinely happy to see them. As much as a sheister wedding salesman could be.

"You come back to see Eddie? That make me so happy?" He immediately wrapped his burly arms around Remy and gave her an unwelcome, yet oddly familiar hug. His Greek, maybe Russian, maybe Polish, accent lilting in his voice. "Ah, beautiful sexy bride. Such as tight ass you have." And then he proceeded to smack her tight ass.

"Hey!" Remy exclaimed.

House stepped forward and placed his cane in the man's chest. "That's enough ass grabbing, there, Balki."

Remy slid her eyes to look at House. He quickly looked away.

The guy let out a little grunt and then quickly recovered with another easy smile. "Hey, no problem, I get it. No touching the merchandise. What can Eddie do for you today? You find Mickey? You ready for annulment? Such a shame, breaks a my heart. But I make you good price."

"So you know who I married?"

"Of course I know who you married," he said. He looked offended. "I perform the wedding myself."

"Oh, well that's comforting," Wilson muttered.

Remy stepped forward urgently. "Who? Who is my husband?"

The man laughed. "You seriously don't remember?"

"No, I don't remember," she replied.

He laughed again. "You're gonna be really disappointed you want an annulment when you find out, because he's a catch, that one."

"Who is it?" House barked at him.

The man shrugged and rolled his eyes. "It's Mickey Rourke, of course."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" House exclaimed on a roaring laugh. "That's priceless."

Remy stared at Eddie. For a long time. Gapping. "Mickey Rourke?"

"You know, _The Wrestler_, _Mr. Iron Man 2_ with the big lighting chain things, a little over the top, but 'meh, it was a good movie," the man tried to prompt her memory.

"The _real_ Mickey Rourke?" she repeated, thinking that maybe he hadn't quite understood her the first time.

"Yes, the _real_ Mickey Rourke," the man replied and then made an annoyed face. "He come in here with that stupid little dog. It shit on the carpet. Piss me off. Son of a Bitch."

Remy turned to look at the guys. Lost. Confused. Flabbergasted.

"Are you sure it was him?" Wilson stepped forward.

"Yes," the man said impatiently. "You two were so in love. It was sweet. Except this guy busts in wanting to beat the shit out of him."

Eddie pointed out House. House gawked back in confusion.

"Yeah, you crazy mother fucker, I said 'You crazy mother fucker…. You can't beat up Mickey Rourke. He just got married. 'Dis is his hot piece of ass bride. You said 'I fucking do what I want.' And then you want to win her back in a poker game, I don't know, crazy shit. But whatever."

House blinked at Remy. Remy blinked back at him. Wilson's mouth was catching flies. Poor Officer Dan was just standing there shaking his head.

"You guys leave and then you come back. But, you come back like two hours after Mickey leave. You fucking pissed him off, he want his money. I tell you I can no do annullmet unless both of your there. Fuck it."

Wilson stepped forward, ever the rational diplomat. "Do you have an address for Mr. Rourke. He must have filled out some sort of paperwork."

"Yes, yes, I have paperwork. It's all on the up and up… What do I look like?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "Of course, what about you? I can do you a favor. I can get you chicks. You look like you want chicks? Tight hot pieces of ass from Eastern Europe, cheap very cheap. I make you good price, no?"

"Excuse me that's human trafficking and prostitution, Mr. Eddie," Office Dan stepped into the fray.

"Um, no thank you," Wilson declined thrusting out his hand to hold off the lawman. "Just Mr. Rourke's address will be fine."

"Ok, your loss." The man shrugged and went into the velvet curtained back room.

Remy put her hand to her forehead and felt like throwing up again. "Oh my fucking God. What have I done?"

"Relax," House said. "We'll get the address, go over there and get him so we can do the annulment. No big deal. It'll all be done so fast you won't even make onto TMZ for your soundbite of fame."

Remy rolled her eyes at him. "Really? You're really going to make jokes right now?"

Smarmy Eddie returned with some paperwork and then a box with a photo album on top of it. He tossed the book down onto the counter along with the box.

"What the hell is that?" House asked.

"Oh, Mrs. Mickey here ordered the High Roller package," he explained simply and then began taking things out of the box. "You got, mugs, hats, little calendars and this keepsake photograph album. Very nice. I made a good price for you."

Closing her eyes, Remy took a breath and then walked closer to the counter to brave a look. The boys followed.

Gingerly, like it might jump out and bite her, she flipped open the cover on the album. "OH! MY FUCKING GOD!"

Truer than fiction, there she was straddled on Mickey Roarke's back, with is pink cowboy hat and stringy long gray hair, biting his ear and riding him like a cowgirl on a stallion. There was one of her in his arms licking his face. Another with him smacking her ass over his knee. And yet another with him grabbing her tits from behind.

Holly Christ. Her mother must be rolling over in her grave. So, so proud.

"See, you look like happy couple. It break my heart to do an annulment. But, I do for…"

"For a good price, yeah, we know," House said impatiently and the flipped the book shut shoving it back at the man harshly. "We'll be back. With Mickey."

Remy looked at House. His jaw was set rigidly and his eyebrows had drawn together into a fierce scowl. He looked seriously pissed. Somehow this wasn't funny to him anymore. Well, thank God. At least someone was on her side. Other than the Armenian wedding planner from hell.

"Opie, you take the box with all that shit and burn it out back."

"You're just gonna burn it?" Wilson looked at him like he'd gone crazy.

"Ah whatever," Eddie threw his hands up and went into the back again. "Fucking crazy assholes…"

"What fucking difference does it make? She doesn't want it and there's no point in having it. I have Mickey's phone number in my cell phone and his $50,000 because he was the one who called me this morning looking for his money. We'll go meet him and then come back here to get Thirteen annulled from him. And be done with this crazy shit."

"Wait, we have to get Wayne Newton his car back," Officer Dan reminded him.

"One thing at a time, Gomer," House said. "Right now this is the most important."

Remy caught Wilson give House a look. House blew him off and stalked to the car. The oncologist looked back at her and then shrugged. Shaking her own head, she traipsed through the gravel lot after them mindful of her ankles in the high heels she had on, but suddenly feeling much lighter than she had since she woke up naked on top of House this morning. Things were looking up. But she wouldn't be completely at ease until she was single again.

Mickey Rourke, for God's sakes? How the fuck did that happen?


End file.
